


Panda Onesies and Ugly Bunnies

by AlexMeg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little bit of angst, Affectionate Dean Winchester, Baby Sam Winchester, Big Brother Dean, Caring Castiel, Caring Dean Winchester, Clingy Sam Winchester, Cute Sam Winchester, Gen, Post-Episode: s09e13 The Purge, Schmoop, Sweet Castiel, Sweet Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexMeg/pseuds/AlexMeg
Summary: At a time when the brothers are not on the best of terms, Sam is bewitched into an infant. For a while, things are good between them, even if they're different. Set sometime after 9.13. Baby!Sam — BigBrother!Dean — Baby Sam-Castiel friendship. Two-shot. Spoilers for 8.23 and up to 9.13, mentions of suicidal ideation (due to episodes 8.23 and 9.01)





	1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

That damn  _bitch_.

That was all Dean could think as he stared down at the tiny human, maybe about seven-months old at most, his chubby legs and arms waving aimlessly in the air. He was swathed beneath a giant red plaid and a beige jacket, jeans pooling below them, where his 6'4 sasquatch for a brother had stood only a couple of seconds ago. Sam had that expression on his face that babies often had, all wide eyes as if they were constantly alarmed, chin doubled as drool shone all over it.

That stupid fucking witch that they were after chanted some incomprehensible, foreign-tongued words and then shot some weird glowing magic ball at his brother, just before before she bolted, and then…

And then  _this_  happened.

And then of course, Sam started making these distressed noises, writhing agitatedly on the floor, and doing Dean the generous favor of telling him in advance what was coming. His pink rosebud lips turned downwards, eyebrows pinching, face going flush as it crumpled.

And then he started bawling, all high and nasal, jerky pauses in between when he ran out of air.

Dean knelt down before the baby, reached down for him and gathered him in his arms, red plaid shirt (that was  _enormous_  in comparison, made Dean wonder how Sam ever turned from  _this_  into the Big Bird) still draped over his body, his small wavy-haired head on his elbow. He felt soft and light, too small in his too big arms and against his too big chest, and even though Dean was definitely not new at this whole thing, he was rusty, and he still felt a bit afraid of holding someone so fragile. "Hey... shh...stop that. Come on. You're running out of air."

He did not stop it, tiny hands smacking him in the chest. So Dean sighed, thought,  _how the fuck_... and bounced him gently in his arms. "Alright...alright," he soothed, rubbed his chubby, squishy arm with one hand, and then slid it up to close his hand around his little one, covered it whole, and he shook it lightly. "Chill out a bit, huh?"

Sam's face slowly fell away into a look where he was still on the edge of crying, but now mostly curious, his big wet eyes staring up at him.

"Why'd you have to go get yourself into another crappy situation again, man?" Dean sighed.

They hadn't been in the best place in their relationship these past couple of weeks, what with Dean having let an angel into his brother without his true consent, who then went rogue and murdered their friend. Dean felt like shit about it (because when did he not have  _something_  to feel like shit about). He knew it was his fault, and if he could go back and change things, he would have told Sam sooner about what was going on so that something like that wouldn't have happened, but if he was honest, he couldn't say he regretted it. Guilty, definitely, but not regretful, because he couldn't wish that he had never saved the life of the only person he had now, and the kid he literally  _raised_. He just fucking couldn't. Even if only a few days ago, Sam had told him that he wouldn't have saved him in his place, if  _he_  was the one dying.

 _No, Dean. I wouldn't. Same circumstances... I wouldn't_.

So as if he didn't already have a ton of crap on his plate, what with Sam wanting to be nothing more than stiff acquaintances and Gadreel and Abaddon and the Mark of Cain. Of course Sam had to go and get more crap on his plate by getting himself turned into a sprog.

Sam was making a wet razzing sound now, more fresh drool on his chin, big doe eyes behind long eyelashes his gums toothless as he grinned widely up at him, hands reaching out at Dean's face.

And well, he was a really... really  _cute_  (okay, yeah, he used that word. He did it) one. No surprise there. He remembered how all the ladies, mostly in the form of waitresses, used to coo and go all maternal over him when they were young.

"Yeah, I forgot what a lady-killer you were," Dean said, chuckling. He wiggled the top of Sam's nose with his index finger, let Sam grab and tug at his cheeks.

 

**…**

 

Dean had to cut up Sam's red plaid (which he would not be too happy about once he got back to his Jolly the Green Giant self, because it was his favorite one) to make a sort of makeshift shirt, which...still made him look like he was drowning in it, the sleeves and collar being too wide. The kid had always been on the extreme ends of the size spectrum, either too tiny or too gigantic. Even as a teen, he was too small for his age, and then he had his growth spurt at sixteen and sprouted like a beanstalk, which was probably the only time he was ever normal-sized for his age before his body had decided that it wanted to be the size of a yeti.

They didn't have diapers, so that would have to be makeshift too, but he was still counting on him not having to  _go_  into his, probably very unreliable, fake-pamper until they were done getting all the resources. The shirt was long enough to reach Sammy's knees so nobody had to know about it. Still, if Dean didn't get Social Services called on him today, he would be extremely lucky.

 

**…**

 

Dean had forgotten what a seriously clingy baby Sammy used to be at times.

He had cried the whole way through here, secured by the safety belt in the backseat. Having no other option but that, he could do nothing but listen to his endless wails and try fruitlessly to talk to him from the front. He had only calmed down when, upon reaching their destination at the store, Dean had finally unfastened the belt on him and picked him up from the backseat.

And then, he refused to be placed in the trolley seat, so Dean was forced to carry him around for about forty minutes while he collected everything that they needed for their current situation. When he tried to unwrap Sam from himself once more after, to put him in the seat of the shopping trolley, he tensed up against his arm, fisting Dean's shirt.

"Dude, come on. I've been carrying you for almost an hour," he complained (almost sounded whiny, but Dean Winchester was a badass monster hunter with a lifetime of training in battle and didn't  _whine_ ). "My arms are going sore."

When he tried to unlatch him a little more insistently, Sammy let out a frustrated shriek and arched his back. Dean winced, almost sure his ears just bled a little, and then caved in with a heavy sigh, rubbing a gentle hand down his back. He let the baby settle against him, whimpering slightly. His cheek burrowed into his shoulder, pudgy little fingers playing with the back of his collar.

"Okay then," Dean huffed, shifted him a little against his chest. Sammy turned his head on his shoulder, facing the side of Dean's neck instead. "You just  _have_  to get your way, huh?"

 

**...**

 

When he was walking to the car (also currently known as the future changing room), pushing the cart of newly purchased items towards it, he suddenly realized that Sammy's makeshift diaper was soaked.

Dean put his hands under his armpits, pulled him back in front of him, and scowled. "You couldn't have waited til we got to the car, could ya?"

For some reason, Sam seemed to find that hilarious, letting out a loud peal of laughter as his legs jerked up and down in the air.

In the car, he changed the diaper, disposed of Sammy's piss poor excuse for one in a nearby garbage can, and strapped him in the backseat again. There was, of course, a whole lot of fuss as expected, Sammy writhing and struggling in agitation beneath the belt, face red with exertion and tears.

"Look, I'd love to carry you around until my limbs break off, Sammy, but it's literally illegal for me to sit you in the front...well, okay, we've never cared about that, but I support this law. It's for your own good."

Sam pushed up against the strap, trying to pull at it, whimpering as tears streamed down his cheeks. Dean felt that strong surge in his veins once again, that desperate  _need_  to just—just console him and keep him happy and protect him from fucking everything.

"Sammy, it's okay. I'm right here, okay?" he murmured, leaning close. "I'll be in the front. See?" He pointed at the driver's seat. "Right there." But Sammy was still crying, so Dean sighed, took his little hands in his and kissed his forehead and hummed rock tunes until he calmed down, pink-faced and staring at him through watery eyes, silent and captivated by the melody.

He fed him canned applesauce with a disposable spoon he bought a packet of. Dean remembered Sammy used to love this mushy apple stuff as a baby, so he ate it without any resistance until he had enough.

 

**…**

 

At the baby clothing shop, he got a  _lot_  of weird, suspicious looks. At least the store was mostly unpopulated, so there had been less public to avoid. Now there were all these dubious parents and wary people staring at him, trying to figure out if he was a child kidnapper or a child abuser. He was trying to hurry through without looking like he was hurrying through, because that would just make him seem even more suspicious, but was it really his fault if some of them looked like they were about to flip out their phones and call CPS on him?

"Sammy, Batman or Captain America?" Dean asked, holding up two baby shirts, one dark grey with the Batman logo on it, and another blue with Captain America's signature shield on it.

Sammy stared for a while at them, gnawing on his fingers. Then, he took them out of his mouth and slowly leaned forward over the trolley handle, and then caught both of them with his spit-soaked fingers (the kid was just chewing on them constantly no matter how many times Dean removed his hand from his mouth). He cooed, chipmunk cheeks denting with dimples as he grinned.

"Oh… oh okay. Yeah. That's a good idea. We can just… get em' both."

And then Sam forced him to put a panda onesie in the cart. For whatever reason, he took a serious liking to it. When Dean passed by the romper hanging on the clothing rack, he reached one hand out (the other still in his mouth) to the white and black one piece, having a panda head as the hood. Dean took one look at it, decided, " _nope_ ," and tried to keep rolling, except then Sam started yell-whining, taking his hand out of his mouth and stretching both of his arms out for it.

"Sammy...man, that's too cutesy for us. We're badass monster-killing machines. We don't wear panda onesies."

Sammy pointed his salivated hand at it, looked at Dean with the biggest and the cutest fucking eyes and went, "aan," which translated to 'I want' in baby Sammy talk.

Dean exhaled, took it off the rack and muttered, "That's just playing dirty." He threw it in the trolley. Sammy patted on both his hands on the handle with his own tiny ones, laughing happily. He shook his head. "Real dirty."

 

**…**

 

They had about an hour before they would get to the bunker. Sammy was sleeping in his new car seat in the back, and Dean was thinking about all the stuff they were going to have to keep on hold for however long this whole thing lasted. He wasn't sure if it was a temporary curse or if they would have to find a cure for it, or if they would have to kill the witch to fix the mess. Who knew where the bitch ran off to now?

He was also suddenly realizing how much he liked having Sammy like this, and that, for some reason, made him feel like shit. It wasn't that he didn't want Sam as he really was with him anymore. It was just that their relationship was so fucked up these days, and he would never say this out loud, but damn he really missed his brother, and he felt crappy for what he had done (even if not for the reason  _why_ ) and he just couldn't get past his giant ego and  _tell_  him that.

And Sammy as a baby just… he didn't know what he'd done. He didn't feel pissed and betrayed and he hadn't been hurt by Dean and he just  _didn't hate him_.

And he knew how pathetic that was. But god, he just wanted his brother back, even if it was just like this. He would have liked it better if it was his bigfoot self, but… even just like this. He'd take it, even if it wouldn't last long and he'd be back to getting cold shoulders and cold, business-like tones and the subtle, hidden anger and betrayal in Sammy's gaze whenever he looked at him. But for now, he'd take it.

 

**…**

 

He carefully unstrapped Sammy from the car seat and gathered him up in his arms. Sam's fingers twitched beside his head, face twitching as well in his sleep at the mild disturbance as Dean picked him up, but otherwise relaxed into Dean's grasp.

He looked peaceful, cheeks smushed against his chest, mouth hanging open in deep slumber, free of all the sorrow and pain that life had dealt out to him, that had made their home in the lines of his face when he was older, hung in his eyes heavily for so long that it became a part of him, and they both just stopped noticing.

He shut the car door slowly and locked it up, picked up the bag of items from the trunk, and began to make his way inside the bunker.

When he reached his room, he laid Sammy down on his memory foam gently, ran a hand through his brown locks. He draped a blue baby blanket over him and put two pillows on both edges of the bed, and then he set out of the room to call Cas.

Cas picked up after the second ring.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas, man, where are you right now?"

"I am currently residing in Massachusetts. Why?"

"I need you to get here. To the bunker."

"That might take about a day, I believe. What's going on, Dean?"

"How do I put this?" Dean pursed his lips, glancing back at Sam. "You, uh… got any experience in babysitting?"

 

**…**

 

It was almost three in the morning when Dean found himself bouncing a bawling baby against his hip, standing half-asleep at the fridge, eyes half-mast and squinting against the light, head and ears aching. He reached in for the formula milk he made a couple of hours ago at the prospect of  _exactly_  a time like this.

When he stumbled back to his bed, he placed his hands under Sam's armpits and untangled him from himself, settled him on his lap, and then wrapped an arm around his tiny body. He put the feeder to his mouth, and the baby instantly calmed down, his high wails fading off into soft, small whimpers. Dean inhaled heavily, running a hand over his hair.

By the time he felt Sammy push the bottle away, he was falling asleep sitting up. His body sang with joy at the prospect of finally getting to be horizontal on its very comfy and beckoning plane. He put the feeder bottle on his bedside, too exhausted to bother going all the way down to refrigerate it again (he'd just sterilize it again and make another one tomorrow. Let all the microorganisms infest it).

He properly positioned the extra pillow on Sam's other side and then laid down on the bed, taking the baby down with him. He pulled Sammy close against his chest, arms around his shoulders and back (which almost completely covered him up. God, he was tiny), resting his cheek against his forehead. The baby gurgled, little hands touching over his face, his nose, his mouth. Dean opened his own heavy, aching eyes and looked down, his big doe eyes staring back up at him. He took his hands and pressed them to his lips, and then put them down, shifting the arm around him to encircle on top of Sammy's arm.

"Sleep," he mumbled, his voice groggy and rough with fatigue. He turned his head to kiss his forehead as he heard Sammy hum, before settling his cheek back against it, and then promptly fell into the sweet darkness.

 

**…**

 

The next morning, Dean opened his eyes to Sammy lying on his stomach beside him, struggling to raise himself up by his hands on Dean's chest. He shifted his head on his pillow, squinting, before becoming fully sobered at the sight, a mellow grin growing on his lips. When Sammy finally managed to get himself into a sitting position with a small baby grunt of effort, leaning his full weight against Dean's side, he laughed, awed and proud. Sammy stared down at his face with his large, round eyes, a small, brief quirk in the corner of his mouth at the sound of Dean's laugh. He patted down his hands on his abdomen, still half-grinning happily.

"That's my boy," he rumbled, still chuckling. He grabbed Sammy by the armpits, pressed his lips to his chipmunk, dimpled cheek before he lifted him onto his middle, setting his back against the thighs of his folded legs. "Morning, early bird."

Sammy smiled and fell forward, putting his weight on his fingers splayed over Dean's chest, before dropping to his elbows. Dean smiled back, craning his neck up to meet Sam's forehead with his, kissed his nose. The baby blinked, one hand rising to Dean's own nose.

"So what d'you wanna do today? You wanna dominate the world using your little puppy dog eyes?" Dean massaged his chubby legs, before moving down to his small feet. "Go to the zoo? The park? Make Cas tear out his hair when he comes by tonight?"

Sam let out a loud, excited squeal of laughter out of nowhere, back arching as his arms stretched out tautly in front of him. Dean chuckled, pulling him up higher to rub his nose against his. "Aha...so that's the plan for tonight, huh? You're an evil one." He tsked pitifully, shaking his head. "That poor bastard. Won't even know what's coming."

And then the baby took up from where Dean left off, babbling back random, nonsensical words and noises down at him. Dean feigned comprehension, his thumbs brushing over the sides of his fragile ribcage beneath his gray Batman shirt, nodding along in intervals with hums, throwing in intrigued, encouraging inquiries here and there. "Oh yeah? And then what happened?"  _Ba buh ga gu muh, ga ah gho_ … "Woah. No way. What'd you do then, Sammy? You kick his ass six ways to Sunday?"  _Aaagh bo muh ba ga guh_.

Dean chuckled, kissing Sam's chin. "That's real awesome, buddy," he said roughly, stroking his fingers through the baby's unruly hair.

And then.

And then he felt an ache inside of him as he watched him, with his big hazel eyes looking down at him and his rosebud lips curving into a little smile, full of blind, innocent faith and reasonless adoration.

This faith that he broke, and this love that he lost, in the irony of loving him too damn much. He was selfish. Too selfish to let him go, to let himself lose him so fast and easy by sitting by and not doing a thing about it, this boy he… well, that he  _loved_ —beyond his ability to explain, beyond sense and reason, that he could barely bear to even think about living in a world without.

So he took it, the one way to do what he had always done, so that he could  _still_  keep doing what he had built his life around, which was to keep Sam alive and safe. And it was the wrong way, he knew, but he had failed one too many times at keeping him both (once more now at keeping him safe when that bastard that he had so stupidly trusted had betrayed them), and he had thought about how he just couldn't fucking do it  _again_.

This tiny, innocent being in front of him… he was the same kid that he couldn't save from a fucking knife going into his spine at twenty-three, and then he made a deal to reverse that and as a result, left him all alone in the world, fresh meat to a demonic bitch and a fucked up destiny that he practically shoved him towards after he came back. He let him throw himself into Hell for an oblivious world that had never been kind to him, to either of them, and he couldn't get him out until he had already gone through two fucking centuries of pain and torture beyond human imagination. He couldn't save him from losing his soul, couldn't help him through the traumatic aftereffects of being in a cage with Lucifer for two and a half lifetimes. He let him take on the fucking trials, let him almost  _die_  again.

Sam told him, before he took them on, that he wanted to make it through alive, that he saw that light at the end of the tunnel (somehow, after everything) that Dean never did.

 _I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you_...

And then, at the end of it all, he discovered that he had fucked up his little brother so much with the stuff he said that he was ready to die to make up for it, just because he didn't want to feel like he let Dean down again. When he heard Sam say a careless, purely confused, "so?" in response to the prospect of his death if he proceeded with the trials, Dean was sure something inside of him broke, the way it  _hurt_  to hear that lack of concern for his life, like it meant nothing to Sam, and seemed to expect it to mean nothing to  _Dean_. He sounded like he couldn't understand why it should matter to either of them.

And then Sam chose to live for him, because Dean wanted him to. That was all it took for him to choose life again, because Dean told him  _he_ mattered to him above all else, and it was true. To Dean, everything else came  _after_  his little brother, and that included the world itself.

But then, in that hospital, he found out that Sam  _wanted_  to die. Just didn't want to be here anymore. And he had only recently found out that his brother was practically suicidal because of him, because of the way  _he_  made him feel, and there were too many things broken between them that they needed to put back together and he couldn't just have let him leave before they did that, and Sam had  _wanted to fucking live before this_.

So after all of that, how could he have just let him go?

It was a horrible thing to do, he knew, but the only other alternative was one that he couldn't even bear to consider.

He looked up at Sammy here, at this beautiful, smart, sweet baby that was never meant to even have any fucking chance at a good life, and who, in spite of it all, had grown up into the strongest, kindest and the most selfless man Dean had ever known. The more the years went by and the more shit that kept coming, Sam only grew stronger and kinder and more selfless.

And he wondered how he could have just pulled the plug on this very same baby in front of him right now, this baby that he still saw sometimes, even decades later, when he looked at his brother. How could he have done nothing to save him?

"You don't get it, do you?" Dean asked softly, gently grasped his small face in his hands. He swallowed. "I  _am_  afraid of—of being alone. You were right. But it's not… it's not just that. Being without you, Sammy...  _t_ _hat's_  my alone. Take anyone from me, and I'll get by without em'. I always have. But you… not you. Never you. If you had died, you can be sure that I would have died too, because it's always gonna be you and me, Sammy, alive or dead. It's always gonna be you and me."

He would never have said these kinds of things out loud at any other time. He could never bring himself to, not to the Sam of today. But he wanted to let it out somewhere. He wanted to tell these things to Sammy while he still could, now, because he knew he would never be able to say these words to him when he could understand them.

"You're  _my_  kid. You're mine." His eyes burned, blinking as they blurred slightly. His jaw clenched to hold the tears back, and he was finding it hard to breathe through the sorrow and emotion he was trying to push down in his throat, in his chest. "And I refuse to bury you."

Sammy was staring down at him, his brows furrowing in distress, pink rosebud lips downturned. Dean realized that even if Sam couldn't understand what he was saying, he could still probably see and hear that Dean was upset, still recognize his facial expressions and the tone of his voice. And then he thought,  _shit_ , and tried to amend the situation. He rubbed a hand down Sam's back soothingly, the other down his arm.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Everything's fine, okay? Everything's fine. See?" Dean tried to smile at him, covering his hands wholly in his fists and shaking them lightly. It was either too late or it just didn't work, because Sam started whimpering, breaths hitching, eyes growing watery and face going bright pink, the onset of another complete bawling session. "Ah crap. I'm sorry."

When Sammy started full-out crying, Dean pulled him up higher on his torso until his face met the hollow of his own neck, which immediately grew wet, shuffled Sam's arms over his shoulders, and wrapped both of his own around his soft, frail body, one hand moving up to hold the back of his head. He pressed his lips to his warm shoulder, feeling the weight of guilt drop like lead in his gut. "It's okay. Everything's okay, kiddo. I've got you."

 

**...**

 

"Alright, little man," Dean murmured, bundling Sammy up in a towel and carrying him to the bed. Sam loathed bath time, particularly when he had to wash his face, which Dean understood because if someone wiped their giant hand down  _his_  face and he just had that damn habit of not keeping his eyes closed when he  _should_ , he would hate it too.

Sam's mouth had gotten all twisted, his eyebrows scrunched up, trying to turn his head away, and then he had tried to clean the soap off his face with both his palms, which didn't really work since he had had them down in the soapy bathwater the whole time before, which had promptly led to Dean obtaining severe damage to his hearing.

"You can't clean soap off with soap water, dummy." Dean then washed his eyes with clear water, and then drenched a washcloth in tap water and slid it down Sammy's closed eyes and face. He rocked back with the light push of Dean's hand on his face, eyes squeezed shut and lips pursed tightly, trying to throw it off of him in annoyance.

He also disliked it when another towel dangled over his face while Dean tried to dry his wet hair with it, whine-screeching in frustration as he tried to push it away with his pudgy hands, scowling at Dean disapprovingly. After putting the poor baby through that disastrous bathing session, Dean bent over the bed from where he knelt on the floor, blew a raspberry to the side of his neck and made him laugh from the belly.

Sam grasped at his face, small hands pinching skin, cooing, and then tugged at it feebly towards himself. Dean went along, tilting his head closer as if listening for a whisper. The baby touched his mouth beside the bridge of his nose and blew air on it, cheeks bloating up. Dean withdrew his head and looked down at him, amusement quirking his lips. Sammy looked back up at him with a toothless, innocent grin, as if waiting for Dean to have the same reaction that he did, completely unaware of how unsuccessful his attempt at imitating a raspberry was.

Dean clicked his tongue. "Nah. See, that's not how you do it," he says, his lips twitching. " _This_  is how you do it." And then he dived down, wringing out every bit of laughter that he could out of the baby.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Sammy laid on the big blanket on the floor of the library, an ugly brown stuffed bunny beside him along with numerous other toys. Currently, Sam had no interest in any of them, because he was too busy trying to eat his big toe. Both of his hands were gripping his right leg which was pulled up above his shoulder, gums gnawing on said big toe, which constantly kept slipping out every few seconds.

Dean sat beside him, laptop on lap, one beer bottle up on the edge of the table, searching through news articles for any deaths or events that point to the bitch responsible for Sam's de-aged state.

Sam babbled every now and then, said random words and made random noises. There was drool on his chin again, which Dean had to keep wiping off with the sleeve of his shirt, but for the most part, he was a calm baby (at least calmer than most). He rolled over here to there, waved his limbs around and contorted into the oddest positions. He played with (mostly chewed on) his weird-ass stuffed bunny.

And when he got bored, he tried to use Dean's knee to lever himself up into a sitting position, legs in a tripod. Dean looked away from the screen, gripping him around the back to press him against his side. "What's up, bud?"

Sammy turned his face towards him, gazing up at him, floppy-haired head brushing over his bicep as he did so. His head then twitched in the direction of the bunny beside him. He leaned over slightly, his hand patting on it before he curled his fingers on its fur and picked it up, brought it in front of himself, face bowed as he scrutinized it, hands quivering in movement. He looked back up at Dean, slowly, wobbily holding it out to him.

Dean took it, acted playfully surprised. "Woah, for me? Thanks, Sammy." Sam looked delighted at his reaction, mouth growing into a wide smile, big eyes blinking under long eyelashes, beaming up at him. He reached out for another toy nearby shakily, a toy bus that was slightly further away, letting out one baby grunt as he pressed against the support of Dean's arm, mouth falling open in concentration and exertion. He caught it with both hands, plopped back on his shorts-clad diaper, against the side of his ribs. He stared down at it, and then looked back up at Dean, hands stretching out to offer it to him.

Dean grabbed it as well, craning down to kiss the top of his mop. Sam seemed to be waiting for more though. "Oh, uh… yeah, it's… it's really awesome," he said, grinning to show his feigned merriness at the gesture, tousling his hair. "Thanks again, buddy."

The baby cooed happily, grinning back, hands clapping down on the blanketed floor between his legs.

**…**

Castiel came to the bunker to the scene of Dean carrying a baby, presumably Sam, on his shoulders, fingers wrapped around his knees. He was spinning around for short intervals, slowing to a halt, and then spinning around again in anticlockwise direction. Sam was yanking at Dean's ears, his bellyful laughter having been ringing out all throughout. Although distant and muffled, it was heard unmistakably when he walked through the entrance door.

Castiel thought of what a stranger happiness had become to the man. It almost seemed out of place now, the utterly joyous smile that was gracing his lips. Dean had mostly become full of fury and sorrow these past few years. He had become tired of life, or even more so, he had become deadened to it, after all the horrors and grief. Meanwhile, the strain in his relationship with Sam these days had not been helping matters for his mental and emotional state.

This was the first time he had seen him come alive again after a long time.

When Dean caught sight of him, he stopped. Sam was now hugging him around the forehead, panting and squealing delightfully, kicking his miniature feet in jocular bounces. "Oh, hey, Cas."

"You may carry on, if you wish. We can discuss later."

"Nah, it's fine," he said, stretching his arms up to take the baby by the armpits, ducking his head to carry him over it and down, turning him around to hold him against his side. "Good to see you." He patted his shoulder with his other hand momentarily, and then withdrew it back to support Sam's back.

"You too, Dean," Cas said with a nod. He looked at Sam, who had the back of his head to him, upper torso twisted slightly, his fingers in his mouth. "Have you found any leads on the witch?"

Dean shook his head. "The bitch's probably laying low for now, so we might have to look for something out of magic books. Luckily…" He glanced around at the bookcases pointedly, all fitted neatly with countless paperbacks. "We probably have a lot of them, so better start looking."

Castiel felt lost already, unsure of where to start. His full powers, by the grace that he himself owned, may have had given him an advantage that could have made the process quicker. Now, with his partial abilities that were also dwindling over time, he had to work manually as any other human in this regard.

"Cas…" Dean said, sounded slightly hesitant. He shifted Sam in his arms. "Look...I know you don't have all your mojo, but… I mean, is there no way you can take a look at Sam? Try to see what kind of curse we're up against?"

Castiel wasn't sure if it would work either, hence not having suggested it, but for Dean, he said anyway, "I can try."

He placed his hand over Sam's back, closed his eyes, fingers glowing blue as he searched for the essence of the spell.

"Was the witch of immense power?" Castiel inquired, feeling the vague warmth of the magic in Sam's body, trying to figure out its intensity.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Dean replied, shrugging. "But she didn't exactly seem like an amateur either. Probably an intermediate at best, going by the kind of hoodoo she was throwing around. And I mean, she was going after people she had bad blood with from her  _high school_. Doesn't sound like a witch-of-immense-power thing to do."

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement of his answer. "I sense it. It is not as clear as it would have been if I had my true grace, but… I don't believe it is strong. In order to cast a spell that would remain permanent, it would require much power. The intensity of this magic indicates to be of inadequate skill for that."

"So you're saying it's temporary?"

"Possibly, if my reading is accurate enough. However, I cannot exactly tell how long, but these kind of spells estimatedly last for a couple of days at most. I believe she merely wanted to throw you off, keep you distracted in order to make her escape."

Dean nodded. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Thanks, Cas."

The expression on Dean's face, though not quite deeply upset, was not of relief either, as he had expected it to be. Instead, it seemed wistful, almost sad, but resigned. He watched Dean kiss the baby's cheek softly, index finger and thumb holding his chin. He drew back with the tenderest gaze on him, and Castiel thought that he may have understood the reasoning behind it.

**…**

They still looked through the library for any reversal spells, just in case things became more complicated than they anticipated (which happened a lot, unsurprisingly, owing to their shitty Winchester luck). On top of that, even if the situation was a temporary deal, the witch had to be found and stopped.

Unfortunately, she was not turning up anywhere in the news, no freaky accidents that could possibly be at her hands. She had been going around the country, tracking down all her potential victims (the lady needed to let things go, seriously) and subjecting them to horrific deaths that the local police couldn't explain. Now, it seemed she was putting her mission on hold after being discovered and nearly killed by two hunters, at least just until the entire case got drowned and forgotten.

Therefore, Dean had gone out to interrogate anyone who could possibly tell him about the witch's, Fiona Hastings, whereabouts specifically, to no such luck. However, one conversation as an impersonated FBI agent with the ticket-seller at the bus station narrowed down the state.

"Couple of days, that's all. Three or four at most. You think you can look out for him 'til then?" Dean asked, glancing down at Sam beside him on the library ground, nibbling on the toy bunny's ear, legs up in the air with one hand clutching Dean's pant leg. His duffel bag was dropped at his feet.

Castiel gave a nod in response. "Of course."

Sam started pulling weakly on his jeans, agitated, distressed noises emitting from him through the furry, wet ear between his gums, which signalled that he wanted to be picked up. Dean complied after a few seconds, crouching down to collect him in his arms, put one around him to support him properly, before he straightened back up. Sam immediately curled around him, cheek burrowing into his jacket, hands fisting the cuff of his collar as the bunny dropped.

"Hey, buddy," Dean murmured, tilting his head to his ear, stroking his back. He brushed his palm over his hair. "Listen, I gotta go away for a while, okay? Cas here…" He rotated a little to put Cas in Sammy's line of vision, took his hand and pointed it at their friend to indicate at him, waited until his gaze landed on him. "He's gonna take good care of you while I'm gone. It won't take long. Just a few days and I'll be back, okay? I promise."

Well, obviously, Sam didn't have the slightest clue what in the fuck he just said, but… it kind of lessened his own anxiety somehow about leaving him alone with anyone else besides himself, and hopefully, he could sooth Sam a bit too before he had to let him go. He knew the kid wouldn't make that easy on him. He trusted Cas more than anybody else though, knew he wouldn't let harm befall his brother.

**…**

"Number one rule: don't let him out of your sight. Not even for a  _second_ , okay?" He let go of Sam's back in order to dig into his back pocket, fingers emerging with a thin bundle of folded paper that he proffered. Castiel took it. "Everything you need to know is on there. I even made a schedule. At least thirty-four ounces of formula milk daily. I made a few bottles of it already, all in the fridge, but I wrote down the instructions on how to make more. Solid foods thrice a day. He loves applesauce best. Two naps every day, but he won't go to sleep unless you hum a song, except when he's really tired. And you need to be close by, because he's a cuddly baby and would want you to carry him like, all the time. Also, play time. That ugly bunny is his favorite. Don't know why. But it makes him laugh if you make it talk, likes babbling back to it or whatever. Sometimes he'll hand you all his toys, so look like you just got a free ticket to Disneyland and say thanks. He gets happy, and also, it means he likes you."

Castiel nodded. On the inside, however, he may be feeling slightly...perturbed. He wasn't sure if Sam would like him as an infant, for one. It seemed like he really didn't want anyone but Dean. Secondly, Castiel may have inadvertently signed himself up for a babysitting job once whilst he was human, in the confused, misunderstood assumption of believing that he was attending a date, but he still barely had any experience when it came to caring for a baby. Nevertheless, he understood that there wasn't much of a choice in the matter. Dean had to track down the witch before the opportunity was lost forever by the loss of too much time, and he would never leave his brother with anyone he didn't know and trust.

"I understand."

"Good," Dean said. He shifted his attention to Sam, who had his head buried into his neck again. He inclined his own head to press his cheek against his forehead affectionately, and after dropping a kiss there with one palm on the back of his hair, began trying to gently unfasten the baby's hold on him. Sam went rigid, fingers tightening on his collar, whimpering fussily. When Dean persisted, he wriggled in protest in his grasp, face contorted and red. His hitching whimpers grew into lurching, high, nasal wails as Dean finally managed to forcibly untangle him from himself, all the while hushedly apologizing, the expression on his face just a little more than deep, utter heartache.

"I'm sorry, little brother," Dean whispered ruefully as Castiel carefully accepted him. Sam was still trying to twisting around towards Dean when he was transferred to him, reaching his hand out for him. He may or may not feel slightly offended about it.

Dean looked like he was ready to stay all for him, but painfully knew that he couldn't. Sam's back seized in an attempt to make Castiel let go of him, crying, but he clutched him tight.

"I'm coming back, okay?" Dean said softly, lightly gripping the baby's outstretched hand in his. "I'm coming back."

**…**

Sam did not seem to approve of Castiel.

The baby would not even glance his way, would often would shy from his touch, and sometimes, he would weep without any clear reason. He didn't require feeding or changing, wasn't sick or tired, couldn't be consoled with his rocking and inept singing (perhaps that was because his singing was  _extremely_  inept) and threw away his toys whenever he tried to lift his spirits with them. So eventually, Castiel interpreted it as his need for his brother and not this stranger that he might sadly seem to him.

For some reason, it made him absurdly...downhearted.

Some part of him understood that he was not the problem. Rather, it was the absence of Dean that was the issue. Nevertheless, he felt ludicrously desperate for his validation. In the face of all their other troubles weighing on him, he realized how frivolous the matter really was, he truly did, but he couldn't help it. Perhaps it may be because Sam, as an adult, was a close friend, so it didn't feel right to have him so detached towards him even as an infant.

"Sam, would you like to play with me?" Castiel asked, putting aside another book of spells on top of the pile of the ones he had already searched through.

Sam paid no mind to him, engrossed in chewing on the rubbery chew toy, chin and fingers wet with saliva. His animal toy laid on top of his legs, close by, but forgotten. Dean had told him that Sam enjoyed simulating communication with the rabbit, but Castiel was uncertain if the baby would allow him to touch his beloved (although a bit unsightly) plaything. He did not want to be doubted nor detested by him any further.

"Sam."

Not one indication that he had heard him. Even if Sam couldn't comprehend his words, he had hoped for some reaction towards the sound of his voice.

"Do you dislike me? Is it perhaps because I have an unpleasant odor?" Castiel did not think so. He did wash his trench coat every now and then. That was an easier task when he was a full-fledged angel, however. He still struggled with those kinds of basic things even after years of direct observation of humans on this planet.

Sam, in response (or lack thereof), just nibbled on the rubber and ignored his presence, gazing up at the ceiling.

**…**

Sam's legless onesie had been soiled by a spoonful of canned peaches, which he had recoiled his head from at the wrong second after he had been satisfied. Unfortunately, as he had later discovered, all of his shirts were in the dirty laundry basket, some stained with food, leaving nothing for replacement except for one Ailuropoda-themed apparel. In simpler terms, a panda jumpsuit that Castiel could never visualize Dean purchasing of his own accord. It was far too… mellow for his taste. But well, it may be that he was wrong, if he was seeing it here now in the shopping bag of baby clothes.

Over the course of this second day, Sam seemed to be showing more leniency towards him. He was warming up to Castiel, as the idiom went, which would perhaps be inevitable towards a person who was providing the baby his basic needs. He was not quite open with him, still reserved and shy, but he no longer drew back from his touch, let him pick him up without much fuss. He still never really met his gaze, never spoke in his infantile language to him, but he considered it progress.

One simple, notable moment that marked that progress was the way Sam had easily nestled into the angel, burying his head into his shoulder, whilst Castiel was putting away all of the dirty laundry (that for whatever reason, Dean did not bother to do) into washing, when before he would demand to be put down through his excessive crying and his incomprehensible (and slightly saddening) attempts to escape by pushing both his fists into his chest, upper body and head away from him at arms' lengths.

Another was during his entertainment session, which was, in fact, initiated by Castiel himself, having gained the confidence to do so after Sam's display of growing trust.

So there he was, sitting cross-legged beside the infant on the blanketed ground, who was currently suited in a ridiculous panda-themed one-piece, with him tentatively reaching for the unsightly rabbit toy. Sam noticed as soon as Castiel began to pick it up from the baby's stomach, big eyes twitching towards his hands taking the furry animal, silently following from under their long eyelashes as he settled it before the baby's face, before they travelled up at him, fingers in his mouth.

"I'm not quite…" Castiel began, voice falling away hesitantly. He wasn't sure if it would be the same for Sam if it was him speaking through the bunny. "I'm not quite sure how I should do this…"

He fitted his fingers around the sides of the inanimate hare, index fingers and thumbs holding the arms. He made the rabbit wave at Sam.

"Perhaps I should modify my vocal tone…" he muttered, although feeling silly and embarrassed at the prospect of doing this. Sometimes, he envied his past self, unshackled by human emotions, free and unapologetic to do whatever he must with nothing but logic and reasoning as his guide.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel said, voice still gravelly and deep as was his default. For a couple of seconds, Sam did nothing but stare at him, unreactive. He cleared his throat, made himself slightly more jolly. "Hello Sam! How are you?"

And then Sam looked down at the stuffed animal. Castiel thought that he had very endearing eyes when he was young. He could see why Dean always seemed to give in to much of what wished for after one look at them, even as an adult.

"Would you like to play with me, Sam?" he asked through the rabbit, shaking him lightly.

Sam took his fingers out of his mouth, cooing softly as his damp fingers clasped around one of the ears.

"My name is Castiel." He raised one arm in another friendly wave. Sam let out a squeal of excitement as he pulled on the long ear, nose scrunching up and mouth open in a toothless grin. "We were friends once, even if you may not remember now."

"Ba buh… buh ga gu muh…"

"Yes." Castiel smiled. "That is true, Sam."

"Aagh oh ma... muh ga guh boh…"

"Is that so?"

It went on and on and on, for a long time. Sam chattered. Castiel listened, encouraging him to continue speaking through the toy, internally pleased for how well it was going.

It was sometime later that the baby began to quiet down, content to just fiddle with the bunny's ear, droopy-eyed as he watched his own fingers. It was at that time that Castiel, although still through the pretense of the bunny, reverted to his normal voice, quietly, softly asking, "Can we be friends once more, Sam?" There was, of course as expected, no kind of response, besides a brief glance up at him at the sound of his voice (which was at least something).

It was a little time later than that when Sam tugged the toy back from him. Castiel released it from his grip gently and easily, wrung his fingers together. Sam brought it up above him, looked almost humorously reverent, arms wobbling as he gazed up at it. He lowered it down to his stomach, still gazing, his feet tottering up in the air.

And then, slowly, unsteadily trembling, he held it out to him with both of his small hands, in some kind of a silent, shy befriending offer in his infantile mind.

Castiel smiled kindly, accepting it, as he said, "Thank you, friend."

**...**

" _Just calling to check in again. How's everything going?_ "

"Everything is fine, as it was when you called two hours ago. And the couple of hours before that. And the—"

" _Alright, Cas. I get the point. You know how to take a picture?_ "

"Of course," Castiel said, slightly affronted that Dean would still think he was incapable of something so simple. "Sam had taught me how to use all features of the phone."

" _Good. Send me one of him._ " He glanced down at Sam, who had his small fingers encircled around his own comparatively large index finger, making wet razzing noises through his soaked appendages that were perpetually in his mouth, kicking his miniature legs above the ground. He blinked as he gurgled and razzed, big eyes squeezing shut, eyelashes against his cheeks, before he opened them again.

Castiel obliged to the request, going to 'Camera' on his phone. The viewer screen showed up, and he aimed the lens at the baby at a 30-degrees. angle from the top. He touched the capture button with his index finger.

He sent the picture. There was a pause as Dean, assumingly, put down his phone to take a look at it.

" _Dude...what are you making him wear?_ "

"Do you mean the jumpsuit that  _you_  purchased for him?" Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. "As well as factoring in the fact that you did not fulfil your laundering duties, therefore due to a shortage of clothing, I had no other option."

Pause. " _Okay, one: I didn't buy that of my own will. The kid forced me to. Two: whatever, mom. Let me talk to Sam._ " Dean's monitoring calls were often short and quick due to running low on time, so this was a feat.

The phone was put on speaker and next to Sam. Dean's voice carried through from the other end.

" _Sammy?_ " Sam's head twitched towards the source of the voice. " _Hey buddy, it's Dean. How are you doing, huh?_ "

Sam stared at the device. Castiel wondered if he would recognize his brother's voice through the phone.

" _You havin' a good time with Cas?_ '

Sam rolled slightly over towards his side. "Ba buh…"

" _Yeah? You havin' fun? He being good to you?_ "

The infant's mouth then grew into a broad smile, huffing excitedly as he jounced his limbs back and forth in the air with joy.

Dean chuckled. " _I miss you too, little brother. I'll see you real soon, okay?_ "

**...**

Soon came two nights later.

The magic in Sam's veins remained, it seemed, even after Dean informed him over the phone that the witch was dead. By the time the hunter returned, Castiel could no longer sense it due to how much it had diminished. He estimated it to be a half a day before Sam would return to his normal self.

The baby was quiet and content, eyes drooping as he teetered on the edge of slumber, nestled into Castiel's chest, sat on the bed. The angel could feel his heart beating slowly and steadily against his palm on his back. For some reason, it made him realize deeply how vulnerable and frail humans really were. He thought about how the only two friends he had were just as vulnerable and frail, not at all invincible despite their unusual history of being resurrected numerous times from the dead.

There would come a day when it would be their last. It may well be the last  _he_  would ever see of them.

He slid his palm over until it went around Sam's back, tightened his grip around the infant silently.

When the door clicked and creaked open, Castiel looked up. Dean poked his head and upper torso in through the gap, strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder.

"Hey," Dean greeted quietly.

"Hello," Castiel replied.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement of his response, and then jerked his chin at the baby. "He asleep?" he whispered.

Castiel tilted his head slightly, pulling it in, and glanced down to get a look at him. Sam's eyes were closed gently, cheek smushed as his mouth hung open. The shoulder of his trench coat was wet with drool. "Yes."

Dean raised his chin in a slight nod, mouth shaped in a circle. "Alright then. I'll get him in about a half an hour, okay? Need a quick shower."

And truthfully, Castiel did not really mind spending a little more time with him.

**…**

The next morning, Dean woke up to Sammy wriggling against his chest as he began to wake, little arms stretching up above his head over the pillow, yawning.

"Hey there, little man," Dean murmured, running his fingers across his eyes to clear the blur. He smiled down at the baby on his elbow when he looked up at him (man, why did the kid have to have such enormous and adorable fucking eyes?), his mop of chestnut hair tousled and sticking up all over.

When Sammy caught sight of him, he only stared at him for a couple of seconds at first, blinking, eyelashes brushing his cheek briefly as he did. And then his pink, rosebud lips slowly spread into a broad grin, and then he was panting happily the way Dean had heard him on the phone, limbs swinging back and forth jubilantly as he flailed on the mattress.

"Easy, tiger. Easy," Dean said lightly through a chuckle, voice still rough and thick with sleep. He hauled him up above him in the air, turning over onto on his back as he did, lowered him slightly and strained up to kiss the baby's soft, chubby cheek. "You happy to see me?" He pressed another to his other cheek. "You happy?"

Sam let out another one of his characteristic loud squeals of delight, arms and legs jerking straight and his body going taut with the force of his vocal joy, little fists clenching.

"Yeah," Dean said softly, smiling, his heart big and light behind his sternum. He brought him down, laid him gently on his chest, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close and as tight as he could without hurting him. He touched the back of Sammy's hair, shifting his head to bury his nose into his soft shoulder. "I'm happy to see you too, buddy."

Sam's arms came up loosely around his neck. Dean brushed his palm down his head.

Having the baby in his arms, feeling his little heart beat steadily through his blue Captain America shirt and against his own chest, he felt the fragility painfully in the shrivelling of his innards, in that sudden, hot rush of wanting to protect him from anything and everything. He gripped Sam a little tighter.

And he had the sorrowful realization that he was in that list of everything he was supposed to protect Sam from now. He had never, not once, thought that he should be there, but well, he was now. He always tried so hard to let nothing hurt his baby brother (yet he had failed countless fucking times), but he forgot to keep him safe from himself.

He never thought to think that he could be just as cruel with his words as anyone else he had defended Sam from, and that he could hurt him just as bad with his actions as anyone else he had wanted to hurt back for doing. Hell, maybe he could do it even worse than everyone else, because nobody else really had that kind of power more than the person who mattered most. He knew that better than anyone. Sam might not like him all that much anymore, but before he found out about what he did, Dean was still the one who was that person for him, the person he chose to keep living for over saving the whole damn world.

"Sorry I let anyone hurt you," he mumbled quietly into the baby's shoulder, half-smiling tightly with rue. "Sorry I was one of 'em."

Sammy turned his head from where his mouth was pushed into his shoulder, face now nuzzled into the side of his neck. The kid sure was a cuddly one, but he didn't mind it in the least.

Dean planted a tender kiss to his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over the side of his ribcage, and they settled into the content silence.

And then Dean smiled as a memory began to come to his mind. "I remember you said your first word when you were this old." He shifted on the mattress, tugged Sam away to catch his eye as he told the story, hands coming up to grip his tiny wrists. "I tried so hard to make you say 'Dad', because I knew it'd make him damn happy. But I guess you used to hear 'Dean' all the time too, so I don't know. For some reason, your little baby mind learned my name first. Dad was there when you said it. My name. Almost all of the letters missing but...yeah, that's what it was. You said it so softly I almost missed it, but you were sittin' there lookin' at  _me_  with those big puppy eyes of yours. I looked at him, not sure what I'd see on his face when I did. Was a big deal, you know? His youngest kid's first word. I thought he would have wanted it to be for him, but… Dad just smiled, looked proud."

Sammy fisted one hand on the collar bone of his shirt, the other clapping down on it, a small smile gracing his lips. Dean returned the gesture, and with his palm against his nape, he gently tucked his head into his neck once again. He knew he needed to get up, but it could wait a little while. He closed his eyes and breathed in the feeling of his baby brother  _living_ , the warm solidity of him and the thudding of his heart against his own and his hot exhales of air into his neck.

And then the baby mumbled, muffled into his neck, "Ba buh… ga muh... da dah…"

And he stilled.

_Da dah._

He couldn't tell if he knew what the significance of his words were, or if it was even significant at all, just new sounds to learn and mindless baby-talk stemming from his subconsciousness in the myriad of times he had heard it as an infant, brought on by the word being repeated throughout the story he had just recounted.

And then he thought that it didn't matter. The truth was there all the same. Not that he hadn't already known that. He just didn't know if Sammy knew it.

He cleared his throat slightly. "Yeah," he said, quiet and rough. Tilted his head until their foreheads met. "Yeah, you're my boy, huh?" A soft grin grew on his lips. "You're my boy."

In a couple of hours, things would go back to the way they were before. Sammy would not be looking at him the way he was now, with that adoration and trust that he had stopped deserving a long time ago, that he had lost every bit of now. He would be back to having the Sam of present time who would barely glance his way and would talk about nothing but victims and monsters and how to kill them with him and wouldn't want to be in the same space as him longer than necessary, locking himself in his room as soon as they got to the bunker, and he'd be stuck again with the words that he could never get past his throat, be once again burying his sorrows and fury at the world at the bottom of a whiskey bottle every night.

And now that he had been reminded again of what it felt like to be needed, to be trusted and adored so endlessly, it would hurt ten fucking times worse to go through without it again.

But the inevitable was coming anyhow, all the issues he had been holding off on, and he would eventually have to face it. The future seemed dark and uncertain, as it always seemed to. He didn't know what he had signed himself up for by taking on the Mark on his arm, and the monster that hurt his brother was MIA, and they had nada on that bitch Abaddon's whereabouts.

Right now though, the world was still and calm besides the steady pulsating against his palm and the sound of even, lilting breaths in his ears.  _His_  world, his senses and his thoughts all narrowed down to those things, and he felt the vice around his heart and lungs let go, felt his breaths come and go easier and freer. When the fight would come, he'd fight it. But for now, everything else didn't seem to matter except for the aliveness of the boy ( _his_  boy) that had always mattered above everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> It seems that baby!Sam brings out every bit of my inner sap, so I'm sorry for any sense of OOCness for Castiel and/or Dean here. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it! I don't know if I'm putting all these images across through my writing, but baby Sammy is too adorable in my head. It's possible I took much inspiration from my own nieces (the cutest babies I've ever known), but I also just imagined that Sammy would be a complete sweetheart as a baby, but a little shy too. I also hope the reasoning between the witch's case was okay (under-detailed, definitely, since I didn't focus much on it, but still okay, I hope) and the whole magic thing made sense, and that you kind of liked the Castiel-Sam parts (those scenes seemed really cute in my head, and I hope you think so too through my writing).
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and for all the kudos, bookmarks and the comments! They mean a lot. <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is...I don't know. So much schmoop...I can't believe I wrote this. I'm still not sure if this is a correct portrayal of a seven-month old baby despite all my research, so apologies to all those who see inaccuracies. I also hope that I kept Dean in character for the most part (under the circumstances). Canonically, we know he's awesome with kids, so I just thought he'd be really sweet to babies, especially the little brother he spent a lifetime taking care of, and even more so, during a time that they were so distant.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! It'll be a two-shot, and I have one scene or two left to write for the second part, so it might be, hopefully, completed next week. Thank you very much for reading! If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts! And constructive criticism, as always, is welcome, as long as it's polite and respectful.


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